Abacus Puns
by So Guhn
Summary: She counted the words as carefully as she could. [SasuSaku, implied ItaSasu]


A/N: Damn you thieving canon!

…

I'll have my vengeance! -takes out baseball bat-

…

Title: Abacus Puns

Rating: PG-13 at least.

Pairing(s): One-sided SakuraxSasuke; some SasukexItachi implied.

Summary: She counted the words as carefully as she could.

Disclaimer: Kishimoto Misashi is the rightful owner to 'Naruto' (etc of relation), it therefore does not in anyway belong to me (since I would _fuck it up_ if I owned it; and now, no one _wants_ that…)

---

Sakura frowned.

It was dark. And she wonders for a moment on how he can see through this and how she can't and the familiar awe she remembers from just being by his side rises up again like the long fought to tide of a shore.

_Run. _Her feet have forgotten how to move and every bit of her is tense, and the image of falling snow in conjured in her mind.

_Go. _Some of the snow is melting.

_Five._

But she doesn't run and the word isn't even said, so really she cannot hear it. Hear, instead she does the song of sword. And she cannot remember when he has ever used a katana, or even held one (least in her presence). Not once has she seen him held one, but only in this the darkness, illuminates blood-stained ground, the steel does; casting blades of flickered light before her jade eyes and she can feel the telltale curve of the left side of her lips, but only briefly since she knows that she herself is jaded.

And a footstep is taken.

"You've done this before, haven't you?" the words come out, tangible things but they won't make him snap. After everything he has finally learned control; control he kept usually reserved for the infamous Uchiha fire techniques he seemed to favor far more than the others.

She would not count the Sharingan.

It was different.

_Four._

She starts to count backwards with baited breath.

"_You're annoying,"_

She came here, the village of sound. For one reason. Reasons different from what the others had had- _Naruto _(a fox who had a borrowed clever and a determined trust that was thought to never break trying to recover something that was never even to be found in the first place),_ Kakashi _(a lonely scarecrow that stands as one in the center reminiscent with concealed almost false rage lying to the mirror once again), those who were the only two people who came out of a multitude that had claimed to _know _him. And Inner Sakura calls them fools. Who are _they_ to think that? But startled she thinks in this moment, the moments that are to come and will return to ash, who was she to think so as well?

_Liar._

Inner Sakura says and it comes out strangled and warped and her body does not obey her will. _But it does, damn you._ And the feeling comes back harsh enough to make her grit her teeth and feel the rush of air as she moves (the air smelling of blood and crushed flowers) moves to kill. Kunai at one hand a fist formed and drawn back by the other, but she lacks feeling, hatred and she knows it, knows that-

_Three._

"_Thank you."_

Back then at the time she had stumbled, water deprived, the sharp twinge against her skin making a small fear rise in her and Inner Sakura had scolded her for tripping; since now the strap of her sandal was broken.

And she thinks it is seven years back when a boy wearing something like a ANBU mask, a cat the form of the face holds out a fan to her (that is very much like the one on his back, but she does not know this) and she graciously takes it since its _very_ hot at the festival and she doesn't have time to offer words of gratitude, and she can't get them out anyway (she's bent over panting slightly, hair sticking and matted to her face. Why was the darn yukata so tight?). Since she can't stop looking at his, pale, pale hands and soon they jerk off her mask in a movement so fluid she is surprised she could see it. Her mask is cat-like too and she likes that they have this in common and he sticks the blue popsicle he was holding into her mouth. And she likes the cold feeling of it, the tangy sweet taste, it is so good she wonders why he would give her such a thing- didn't he like sweets? He is very fast Inner Sakura comments somewhat haughtily Outer Sakura not noticing him for the cold sweet in her mouth and as seconds go by the broken strap of her sandal is fixed by strong almost expert-like tying and she looks up to thank him but-

And Inner Sakura is humming and not surprised at all that her kunai hits, but her punch misses since- the thing is only a copy. The real him hiding, perhaps, but it feels weird to think that he is hiding; since he was surely not a snake.

She cannot see him, this place a single room that seemed complex and simple, this lair of the snake. Its intricate and elaborate designs wasted in the black and she finds herself wondering where the reflected light comes from, as the rays from a near-forgotten sword lies dully on the floor. To give a mere clone the actual weapon, but it disappears to liquid silver, seeping into the tatami mats and Inner Sakura hesitantly says _shit._ Right before in a whirl, an almost comical rush is felt at her side and she does not turn her head since-

_Two._

"_Crying…"_

And the kids they don't like her forehead, they think it wide and large and ugly. This memory is something she should not like to recall or mention. But she enjoys the smells of flowers, the softness, the colour, and she feels him pressed up against her from behind, the gentle cool feel of his breath against her collarbone as exciting and deadly as the long sharp steel blade of the katana he wields. And she only thinks of the sweet aroma of flowers now and she feels what remained of her resolve to kill slacken.

He is the only one who doesn't tease her, she hasn't forgotten but something, something wasn't in place. He was quiet then and he is quiet now; then when he had stiffly with an air of formality that almost made her skin prickle (with a pleasantness she won't recognize for years) had handed her the stack of her books he had collected from the timid trail that had been made in her escape to _get away_.

His eyes had been blank and she had thought them blue back then; only to realize later that they were mirrors, reflecting the sky, the blue _the everything_. He didn't smile either, but she didn't care with such a nice fragrance drifting and comforting to her (_crushed _Inner Sakura says teasingly and Sakura can almost feel her face go scarlet under his unblinking stare); the presence of him she decided a calm before a storm (for why else would her heart beat fast in warning?). Her books came back to her dusted off, another thing that she didn't notice for her eye had instead caught the sight blue shade of his hair and decided it far more interesting.

"Why did you come here?"

And his voice is smoother than perfect glass, the stillest water and she shivers a feeling of seeping cold and wet drips across her spine. And she slowly closes her eyes when she feels the blade press harder moving an inch to allow a single bead of blood to start to drip, a slender hand caressing the side of her face in mock apology. He hasn't changed at all she thinks- least his apologies.

And her arms slack they were, rise to have one small hand rise and attentively, hesitantly touch the one around the hilt of the sword. She smiles like she always does for him and she knows she still loves him.

"To kill you," and his eyes, dark smoke flash into red mirrors and the bubbly feeling of joy fills her and flashes through her own eyes at his small move of acceptance.

_If only_ and the thought flashes briefly through her mind, faster than a blink of an eye and she wishes she could move for him, defeat him.

Kill him.

But she can't do that, a white snake has wound up and over her legs binding her to the spot. The sir smells metallic and she cannot feel his sweat and she wonders if there is any at all; for he had been moving- swiftly no doubt. Feet not even turning to eye catching 'blurs', they had been as if invisible and she would at times think he, _himself _was, if she could not have felt the vague pulse of his charka here and there in the dark it would have felt more confirmed.

It is very dark she thought, and she glances briefly to the milky white of the skin unhidden behind the falling sleeves of the Uchiha's kimono and she giggles (a finger has curiously left the grip on the hilt and it touches lightly against her throat feeling the movement of her sound) at his traditional clothing. They were black, her blood would not show up easily, and she becomes at once silent at the thought.

_One._

"_Congratulations,"_

He had said it silently. And she even remembers the abrupt movements of his lips and the fluid grace in his step as he passes her by, black clothes fluttering, a straw basket hat shadowing the cloudy eyes and she thinks he looks odd in a hakama and how she wants to kiss him. All the words have left her and she wants to follow him, but cannot. Tsunade will expect her to train harder even as she has passed her test and finally become a medic nin. A good one. A strong one. Something the village has not seen in ages, like tall grass and therefore feels the need to celebrate along with the summer festival. She has the sudden urge to break the strap of her sandal so he could stay for a few moments more. But since the words are said and done he has become shadow again. And by then when words have found her again they are weak and carried by false wind. _Sasuke-kun…_

He, with a slender hand he cups her jaw and angles her head to a certain degree; just so his chin is in the same height of her brow and almost tenderly he kisses it. A tremor runs through her and she braces herself for that is to come, a vision of a red moon and falling petals her last surreal scene.

It will be silent and swift and she for once wishes he did not _know_ her, (she knows he values memory above all else, along with blood and names, and siblings, and family. She knows it is the past that he treasures the most and now with swift finger crossing that will lax after the muscles have stiffen she can only hope and in futile prayer for something she knows has been burned long ago, _make the moments last _is hissed through sliding paper doors dripping with kanji of blood and she doesn't know if she wants to create the moments _last_ or if she wants the moments to continue for a long time. So she settles for both…) -for it is in the quick graceful movements that he shows her mercy, and she hates herself again; for she knows she is the cause of it. A millisecond he is gentle and for another millisecond she cherishes it and abhors it.

A moment she thought she could stay like _this_ and be _his. _Her thoughts she does not realize becoming almost abstract with the developing rapid beating of her heart.

The moment Inner Sakura scoffs and Outer Sakura wonders if Sasuke can feel her false resentment, breezy and perfumed smoke drifting over reflective pools of something shallow.

She doesn't really want to count anymore.

The sword flashes with the quick speed that not even _that snake_ could accomplish and then she is dead. A corpse, dead weight that slumps against him only the slightest, resistance was not something Sakura had against him and he almost likes the feel of her body cooling against his.

Zero.

"_Farewell,"_

This time he kisses her on the lips and pretends they are _that person's_. The person whose body he really wants to feel cold and dead against him _beneath him _and Sasuke bites his lower lip in what could be called frustration before lowering the body in his arms to the crimson ground; he decides to paint this room a different colour next time.

And it turns out her blood not only did it show up on his clothes, it has seeped through the ink on his hands.


End file.
